The Vicomte, Her Lover
by degasballerina
Summary: Missing scenes from the ALW musical. The story of the secret engagement.


It was with shaky hands and unsteady steps she returned to the opera house. She knew Raoul would be there— no, he was the vicomte now, not the boy who had run barefoot with her on the beach and played pretend. The vicomte would be there, and she must be brave. For if her angel of music knew she harbored the ghost of affection for him, that she could still feel the hint of his soft lips on hers, salty from the sea, the fleeting kiss they'd given each other on the day the vicomte left for Paris, all those years ago, He would be displeased.

Her angel was a man, he was the opera ghost, a man with very human desires, she had felt. And a man capable of terrible rage. She'd feared for her life when she had unmasked him-—how foolish she had been!

The vicomte had sent her several letters in his messy hand, expressing concern for her wellbeing. He wished to visit her, but Christine knew that was too intimate for the mere childhood acquaintance she pretended he was. But she agreed to meet him, before the first Il Muto rehearsal, in Meg's dressing room. She assumed her Phantom wouldn't be able to hear them there.

Meg and Christine were mere ballet rats, but they had managed to commandeer their own dressing rooms since they had done a few solos. Meg's was cozy and eclectic, with a divan that the two of them were fond of lounging on while eating chocolates they'd pilfered from the stack of presents intended for La Carlotta.

She found the vicomte already sitting there, out of place in his fine suit, surrounded with the relative squalor of Meg's dressing room. Christine pursed her lips. Meg hadn't bothered to tidy up, she'd left a pair of tights thrown over the lamp (a fire hazard!), and a stack of old pointe shoes in the corner. She and the vicomte were making stilted conversation— he was remarking on her solo during Act II. Meg not-so-gently corrected him, her solo was in Act I.

"But I suppose you only had eyes for La Daaé, and here she is!"

He stood to greet her, the puppy-dog, boyish look in his eyes disarming her. She smiled cordially as he laid a fervent kiss on her hand.

"Hello, M. le Vicomte," she said, trying to be detached. But his grin melted the facade she'd put on a bit.

"Why not my Christian name, Christine? Unless you'd prefer Mademoiselle Daaé, of course."

"I suppose, since we are old friends," she trailed off.

"Well," said Meg, winking languorously. "I ought to go. I'm sure there's some minor drama to catch up with in the corps de ballet. I'll leave you to it. Good day, M. le Vicomte."

And with that, she departed. The suggestive tone that Meg had taken made both Raoul and Christine blush.

Raoul stammered. "I have no intentions—in that direction—I merely-"

"You wanted to see if I was better, yes. I know this is quite an unusual place to meet, but we are safe from prying eyes and ears here."

Christine snatched the tights from the lamp, balled them up and threw them away. "Sorry, Meg is not as meticulous as me when it comes to picking up. I would have- if only-"

"It's perfectly all right, Christine. No need to apologize. I'm just glad to see you. I'm sorry that we couldn't go to supper together, I won't press you for reasons why."

"Thank you," she said. "Perhaps another time. And I truly mean it. Raoul, I've missed you."

"I did as well. Now, I hear you are to play Serafimo?" he laughed. "The pants role?"

"The silent role," she bemoaned half-heartedly, before giggling. "I suppose I can work on my acting. And it's a step up from being a Sylphide."

"When do you start rehearsals?"

"We're on the prima donna's schedule," she said, gesturing wildly like she'd see the Italians in the company do. "Some time today, I think they'll come fetch me."

"Well, when you're done, I'd like to take you to supper, perhaps? Nothing fancy, just two old childhood friends catching up. As long as your, ahem, tutor doesn't mind," he looked at her feet.

"I don't wish to discuss him. And yes, you may take me out, not tonight, but on the opening night of _Il Muto_. You see, I must be home before ten. I need my rest."

"Of course, Christine," he beamed. "I know a little restaurant where no one will bother us. You must know, La Carlotta, she's been spreading rumors… not me. I would never dare. I assure you, my intentions are pure."

"I believe you, Raoul, it's a relief to hear that. Carlotta, I admire her talent, but she has never been a friend of mine. She never deigned to talk to us chorus girls. But I suppose we will have to make up and work together. After all, I am playing her love interest."

Raoul laughed. "You have a lovely way of putting things. I would not have your patience, I was quite irritated with her for speaking of you that way."

"Ah, but you see, I am quite proud that I am prominent enough for her to even know I exist! That means I'm a threat to her."

Raoul laughed, a buoyant laugh, like bubbles in champagne. He was a man now, but he still had the youthful qualities she remembered of the boy she had fancied so long ago. He still had the floppy mess of ash-blond curls, never quite smoothed by pomade. He had the same crooked smile, the same expressive face that couldn't hide his emotions. Life in the navy and life following his ascension to the title of Vicomte had made him grow up, but beneath the aristocratic front he'd put on for Meg, he truly was Raoul, plain and simple.

Christine glanced at her reflection in the large mirror. Meg's dressing room was like her own in design, but she hoped there was no man lurking behind the mirror. What would he, the Phantom, say if he knew she was to dine with his rival?

No, he wasn't his rival, only her friend. Raoul was a true friend, with no ulterior motive, unlike her "angel", a man who had lied and deceived her, come to her in the guise of knowing cher poor departed father. She was torn between anger and forgiveness. He had tricked her, yes, but he had helped her too. The Phantom—she did not know his name!— he was a tortured soul, how dreadful his life must have been for it to come to this, living in the cellars. He had been her confidante, but she supposed she must have been a comfort to him too. They were both lost souls, in a way.

Raoul gently took her hand. Christine realized she had been deep in thought for a while. She let out a heaving sigh.

"Christine, I promise, I will protect you. Whatever is troubling you, summon me, and I will do my very best to help you," he said, squeezing her hand and looking into her eyes.

"You promise? Oh, Raoul, there is so much I can't tell you, can't even begin to explain! But I will take you up on that, if need be."

They both felt a rush of cool air and the door creaking open. There stood Madame Giry, who had been so kind yet firm to Christine. She knew something of her angel, but she daren't ask.

"Christine Daaé, you are needed on stage. M. le Vicomte, rehearsals are normally closed to the public, but I'm sure they could make an exception for a patron such as you."

"Thank you, Madame," Christine said, overly deferential to her ballet mistress by habit. She straightened her dress and curtsied to Raoul. They could be silly and playful in private, but they must take their respective roles seriously when around others.

"Thank you, Madame Giry," said Raoul. "I will wait for opening night to be surprised."

* * *

The night the chandelier crashed, Christine felt she had been brushed by death. She was a nervous wreck the whole night following, so removed from the bliss she'd had on the rooftop with Raoul, and the joy she'd had playing the Countess.

After it was determined that no one had been injured, they found a chair for her in the managers' office. She collapsed into and sat while Raoul discussed the matter with M. André and M. Firmin. He leaned on the side of that plush leather chair, absentmindedly squeezing her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles, back and forth.

Meg stood above her, removing Christine's powdered wig with gentle hands, and then unleashing her hair from the pin curls, her deft fingers sometimes pulling too hard. Christine barely registered any pain. All the while, Meg tried to make conversation with her friend, something about La Carlotta's throat. But Christine wished no ill will towards that woman, she pitied anyone who was subject to the Phantom's machinations. La Carlotta was unpleasant to her, yes, but she was still an innocent victim. Well, somewhat innocent.

Finally, after endless talks of figures and sums and M. Firmin trying to calm M. André's nerves, Raoul let out a sigh.

"Gentlemen, I think it is time I escort Mlle. Daaé home. I will meet with you and the board tomorrow," he covered his mouth to stifle a yawn.

M. Firmin opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it.

"We'll see you in the morning, M. le Vicomte," M. André sighed. "I suppose there's not much more we can accomplish tonight."

"No, nothing at all. Good night, try to get some rest," he said. And with that, he turned to Christine.

"My darling, I'm taking you home. The carriage is waiting…" he murmured.

"Fine horses?" she rasped, taking his offered arm and rising. "At the door?" Their time on the rooftop seemed so long ago.

"Yes," he said warmly. "Now, I don't think we shall have dinner tonight, Little Lotte, but perhaps tomorrow, or whenever you recover enough."

He supported her with an arm wrapped around her shoulder to her dressing room, Meg trailing behind. The snaking corridors were mostly empty, here and there a chorus member, still wiping off their heavy makeup, congratulated Christine on a triumphant performance. Some seemed genuine, others barely hid contempt. Marie-Louise, the soprano who considered herself the natural successor to La Carlotta, still seemed particularly peeved that she had been passed over for the chance to play Elissa, even all these weeks later.

When they reached Christine's dressing room, Raoul stood like a gentleman outside the door while Christine changed out of her costume. Meg helped her lace up her green dress, wiped off her heavy makeup, fastened her cloak, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Christine tried not to glance at the mirror, which she had covered up with a sheet, instead taking her reticule of the counter and slinging it on the crook of her arm.

"You were splendid, Christine," she said. "Truly. Now, let the Vicomte take you into his arms-"

"Meg!" she chided. "It's not like that… well, we love each other. We kissed on the rooftop."

"I gathered that much, you were very flushed and your lipstick was smeared when you came down," she giggled. "Now, let him take you home, and I'll come over in the morning with pastries. All right?"

"Yes," Christine smiled, for the first time since the crash. "I'll see you tomorrow, Meg."

Meg slipped out the door, giving a quick curtsy to Raoul, and ran down the hall. Raoul, shielding his eyes, asked if he could look. Christine nodded, then realized he couldn't see her.

"Yes," she said, a giggle dying in her throat when she remembered what had happened that night.

When he looked at her, he grinned and offered her his arm. He led her to the carriage, a mahogany behemoth with four white horses attached. Christine gave the driver her address, and got into the carriage, assuring Raoul she didn't need help getting up.

They settled into the back, Christine resting her head on Raoul's shoulder. He hummed contentedly, squeezing her hand.

"Do you think… it's my fault," she said, after a few minutes. "My fault, that Buquet…?"

"No! No, not at all. It was.. An accident, that's all."

"Raoul, it was no accident. It wasn't an accident that the chandelier fell, either! You must have heard the man laughing! That was the Phantom!"\

"A practical joker, that's all… with a sick sense of humor. He sent me a note, saying you were with the Angel of Music, telling me that that's why you disappeared after the opening night of Hannibal. He's gone too far, but I'm sure the police will track him down."

Christine felt tears welling in her eyes. "He killed a man… he's no joker. The Phantom is real, Raoul. He's not a ghost, but he took me beneath the opera house, to his lair! He loves me Raoul, he must! He showed me a doll, with my face and my exact proportions, dressed in a wedding dress! And it leaned forward, startled me! And… and…."

"Christine, are you sure? Sure that this happened?" Raoul said, true concern in his eyes.

"I wish I could show you the bruises from when I fell on the floor, running away from him. Oh, he bellowed with such rage when I took off his mask… and his face… oh god!"

She dissolved into tears again. Raoul put his arm around her.

"There, there. I promised I would protect you, didn't I? This man, he won't harm you anymore. I'll send a search party out tomorrow, to track him down. He'll be arrested, I promise. And then, we can be free, free from him. Christine, I love you! I've loved you since I was fourteen, that summer in Perros… I intend to marry you, if you still agree to have me, damn what anyone will say…"

Christine wiped her tears. "You'll marry me, a little nothing with no title, no dowry?"

"Nonsense. I saw you play a countess tonight, quite convincingly. You'll make a fine viscountess. Unless," he grasped her hand tightly, "you don't want that. I'll give up my title, and we can live in a little flat, I'll-I'll get a job…"

"No, no. I will marry you, Raoul de Chagny. I'll be you viscountess," she gave him a quick peck. "But I intend to keep singing, you understand?" she said, mock-sternly, before letting out a little laugh.

"I'd never stop you from singing, Christine. You were born to do it, you have a gift…"

"Thank you," she smiled. She glanced out the window and saw they were approaching her apartment.

"Raoul, why don't you stay the night?" she said, not thinking about her words before she said them.

They both blushed.

"Christine, your honor… I'd never! Not until we're married!"

"N-not like that… no! I mean, I want you close. I don't want to be alone…"

"I-I understand. I will, I will keep watch at the door. Make sure no one comes in…"

The carriage came to a stop. Raoul got out, helped her down, and said something to the driver about being picked up here tomorrow. The driver nodded, and took off.

"Now, show me the glamorous apartment of the star of the Opera Populaire," he laughed.

"It's not quite glamorous, I'm afraid. It's a bit of a mess, actually. I didn't expect to have company."

She led him up the steps, up and up to the eighth floor, recalling their journey earlier that night, through catwalks and up ladders, up to the roof. This was certainly less strenuous.

When they reached the door, Christine fumbled through her reticule, pulling out a tube of lipstick, two handkerchiefs, a hat pin, six francs, and a pot of rouge before producing her key. Raoul looked on in unabashed amazement.

"You fit all of that inside that tiny little purse?"

"Magic, isn't it?" she grinned. "We don't have pockets, and we tend to have much more little things to carry. You should see Madame Giry! I swear, she can pull things out of thin air!"

She opened the door, sighing as she realized she had left breakfast dishes out. "Sorry," she said quickly moving them to the sink.

"You don't have a maid?" Raoul asked, not disdainful, but confused.

"No, we're not all born into wealth and privilege, Raoul de Chagny," she laughed.

"Well, since you're my fiancée now, I shall get you one… no, two! Two maids. And a flat closer to the opera house, and closer to me. And new dresses… not that there's anything wrong with your old ones, of course." He was flushed. "And a dog, you always liked dogs, didn't you?"

"Who would take care of him when I was at the opera house all day?" Christine laughed. "The second maid?"

"I suppose we'd have to get a dog governess…" he seemed serious for a moment, then broke into a smile. "No, that's silly."

"Very silly. Now, let me get on my nightgown… I hope I'm not burdening you, having you stay here. The sofa is quite comfortable, I've fallen asleep on it many times."

"Anything for you, Christine," he said. "Although, I may leave early in the morning to get a change of clothes. Messieurs Firmin and André won't say anything to my face, but people talk… And I won't ruin your reputation."

"Raoul, I already have a reputation. I did sneak off with you to the rooftop…"

"That was innocent!"

"You're… rather handsome when you get worked up," she said. "I'm an actress, a singer. They already expect that of me… girls in the chorus, they were saying I was your mistress…"

"You're my fiancée, and I intend to let the world know tomorrow. I'll have a notice put in the paper! I'll get a ring, to give to you."

"Raoul, let's just keep it between us, for a while, please," Christine took his hand in hers.

"Why? I'm not ashamed! I want the world to know!"

"This is… all so sudden, Raoul. Who's to say you won't change your mind-"

"I won't! Never!"

Christine shook her head. "You're a very impulsive young man, you know that? Running into the sea, like that? Proposing to a girl after a few kisses? What will your brother say? Your family? Society?"

She said all this, and meant it, but she did have other reasons. Her angel, the Phantom, he would be furious, if he found out. She had to talk to him first, convince him… if she could find the courage to confront him.

She was torn from her inner monologue by Raoul speaking.

"You think I care about those clucking society hens, my stuffy old brother, the rich lechers who'll gawk at a ballerina and not marry one? I don't!"

"I know you don't… but just… think about it. I'll wear your ring, but on a chain… it will be a secret engagement! Like a novel! And one day, I will wear it on my finger. I will be your bride. I promise. Just… six months. Ask me again in six months."

"Six months!? But Christine-" he started.

"No, no, I've made up my mind. I can be stubborn too, you know. Now, let me get you a blanket. It's past midnight, you know."

"Oh, I'm sorry! You must get your beauty rest— not that you need it — I mean-"

She kissed him on the tip of his nose. "Enough. I know what you mean."

She went into the other room and undressed herself. Briefly, she had a teeny bit of trouble with her corset, but figured Raoul would die of shock if she came out like this to ask him to help her. She realized only one of her nightgowns was clean, one that she always thought was cut too low in the bosom and too high on the legs, so she blushed and wrapped a shawl around herself. Christine retrieved a quilt from the closet, and took the softest pillow from her bed.

When she emerged from her bedroom, Raoul was sitting alert, eyes trained on the front door. He turned to look at her, and bit his lip and looked at the ground.

"Don't blush, you've seen my legs before. Tonight, remember? I thought I caught you looking at my Serafimo costume," she laughed.

"Thank you, Christine," he took the blanket and pillow from her. "Although, I don't think I shall sleep tonight… I must keep watch."

"All I asked for is your presence," she said. "But go ahead, if you wish."

He stood up and pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead. "I love you, I'll say it again, each night, each morning, remember?"

"Oh, Raoul, I love you too, silly boy! Have I said that yet?" she kissed him quickly, but a little less chastely.

"No," he said, grinning. "It wounded my pride a bit that you didn't, but God, it's like the sweetest music now when you say it…"

"I shall be sure to tell you every day, I promise," she said, before letting out a yawn. "Now, excuse me, I really need to sleep. Good night, Raoul."

"Good night, Christine," he smiled sleepily. "My angel."

She tried to hide her flinch.

...

The next morning, she was awoken by a kiss on her forehead. She opened her bleary eyes and saw Raoul, adorable Raoul, with rumpled hair and rumpled shirt, smiling in the warm sunlight.

"Good morning, Christine," he said. "I just wanted to say goodbye before I left. I'll probably be in meetings all day, but I intend to come over later, if you'll agree."

"Yes, of course. Now, fix your hair, you look like you've been up to something…" she sighed. "And let me get back to sleep."

He smiled and kissed her again. "Goodbye."

She had scarcely closed her eyes when she heard two startled gasps, one was from Raoul, the other from a woman. She quickly recognized Meg's voice.

"M. le Vicomte, what a surprise," she drawled. "I trust you were keeping Mlle. Daaé company last night?"

"It-it wasn't like that, I swear," he said quickly, "I was merely-"

"Meg, leave him alone," Christine whined, loud enough so that they could hear her. "It was innocent."

"All right, off you go, M. le Vicomte," Meg chuckled.

"You may call me Raoul," he said, then let out a gasp. "Christine, she smacked me on the-"

"Got to keep you on your toes, Vicomte," Meg giggled. "Especially if you're hanging around my best friend. Go on, go on. And fix your hair."

She heard the door close, and shortly afterwards, Meg appeared, swinging a brown paper bag in one hand, and a pot of coffee in the other.

"Christine, you look like you hardly slept last night," she admonished. "Busy with your new friend?"

"He's my fiancé, and no. I asked him to stay here to protect me. It's not like that. If he has… thoughts in that direction about me, he would certainly not show them."

"Fiancé!?" Meg squealed. "Truly?"

"Yes. But don't tell anyone, you hear? We're keeping it a secret, just for a little while."

"A secret engagement, huh? You sure he's serious? Men like him, he keeps girls like us as mistresses, not wives."

"There _are_ no men like him, he's a perfect gentleman, just so you know."

"I'm sure," she said. "Now, tell me everything about what happened on the rooftop."

* * *

Raoul arrived that night with a suitcase, dinner, and a cheery disposition. When Christine looked at him funny and asked if he planned on moving in, he chortled.

"No, I just intend on keeping watch again, and I thought I'd be prepared. Unless you want me to leave…"

"No, I was going to ask you to stay again."

"I have something to ask you, too," he put down his things. He produced a small velvet box, which clearly was not brand new. He got down on one knee.

"Christine, I mean it. I love you, so much. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I know this is sudden, so sudden, but I've wanted to do this since I was fourteen. I always knew you were the girl for me. This is my mother's ring-" he opened the box.

Christine was crying, tears of joy. She allowed him to slip on the ring to her finger, and held it up closer to her face to admire it. She didn't know much about jewels, never having any herself besides the glass costume jewelry she wore at the opera. But she recognized that it was an opal, surrounded by a sprinkling of diamonds.

"It's not a great big diamond, but it has great sentimental value to me… my mother, you know, died giving birth to me. She was older, she knew the pregnancy was dangerous. She left a lockbox for me, to open on my eighteenth birthday. And one of the things was this ring, she said to give it to the right girl, a girl I loved. And I have, I have given it to the right girl."

She got to her knees to hold Raoul in her arms. "Yes, yes!"

He was crying too. "I also… got you a chain. To wear it around your neck, just for a little while. The opera house is going to remain closed until New Year's Eve, for repairs, and there is to be a masked ball, to celebrate the opening. I want you to attend on my arm, and we will make the announcement there."

"Oh Raoul, of course. Of course."

"Vicomtesse Christine de Chagny, it sounds lovely."

"It really does."

* * *

**Author's Note: I was so surprised and happy with the reaction to my last fic, that I decided to go back into the deep recesses of my Google Drive account to dust off this. I wrote it originally in 2016 and haven't touched it since until now. I think I shared it with one or two people at the time but never did anything else with it. I'm very self-conscious about my writing and if you think there are not enough R/C fics now, there was even less back then. We're practically in an R/C renaissance right now because it's become much more socially acceptable and popular than it used to be.**

**I intend on adding more chapters, just need to get in the right mindset to write again. If you have any ideas, I'd love to hear them.**

…


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